One Poem Only

Women of Stardust and Soil by Steph Patterson | One Poem Only

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now. WOMEN OF STARDUST AND SOIL STEPH PATTERSON > We start as stardust > and then soil, we become, > > Underneath our feet > the bones sing of so many > women before us, > > Their whispers form tendrils > winding up to tip into your ear, > > Their stories will not be forgotten > as the earth holds their proof of life, > > When their voices rose > in anger and defiance > Women labeled as witches, > spinsters, other, lesser than, > > The control men forced upon us, > and continue to resurrect, > Born of fear, and carefully tilled hatred, > > The women of today > born of stardust with the soil > singing under our feet, > > We will not be quiet, > our voices will be a cacophony. More from Steph Patterson ↓ * @spookyspatters [https://www.instagram.com/spookyspatters/] on Instagram Support + Stay Connected to OPO If you’d like to support the show, Substack [https://rembrandtscure.substack.com/] and Patreon [https://www.patreon.com/c/OnePoemOnly] members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook. Poetry shows us what we need. Thank you for being part of the experience.

Ice Box Woes by JACK"E" | One Poem Only

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise. ICE BOX WOES JACK”E” > This freezing and thawing > dosey doe > the outdoors has frosted over > ice falls often, > putting the Ice Man of history > in balmy palms > though I hear the sunshine is dim > in the panhandle. > > A chuck roast > whose rump has frozen > rock salt sprinkling > if this is dinner > I will screech on pass. More from JACK”E” ↓ * @poetique_jacq [https://www.instagram.com/poetique_jacq/] on Instagram * Her book, An Abbreviated Mass: A Collection of Poetry [https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/an-abbreviated-mass-jacke-abad/1149648343], is available now Support + Stay Connected to OPO If you’d like to support the show, Substack [https://rembrandtscure.substack.com/] and Patreon [https://www.patreon.com/c/OnePoemOnly] members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook. Poetry sustains. Thank you for supporting the podcast.

Prince of Marble by Auri Tunglsdottir | One Poem Only

A daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud. PRINCE OF MARBLE AURI TUNGLSDOTTIR > I’ve put you on a pedestal > For some reason. > One day it was there, > And I put you up, > It looked right. > > I’ve made you a statue of marble and gold, > Shining in the dark – the moon looks dull compared to you; > Glowing in the sun – that’s learning how to look golden from you. > > I’ve made you immortal > By creating an image that will live in my mind, in the universe. > I’ve made you a thought that flies through galaxies, > Like a beam of light, carrying a message. > > I’ve written poems, > Dozens over dozens, > One longer than the other, > One saying less than the other, > And all of them screaming to be heard, > Doing their best to express my inner world. > > I’ve filled a whole book with you, > So I can put it on the shelf with things dear to me. > I could fill another hundred, > But I would be repeating myself. > And I wouldn’t get tired of it, > Of reliving every moment, remembering every word, > Feeling every glance of yours again. > > The glance I longed for that strongly, > That I wished for a different version of our lives. > One on the surface of this ocean of dreams, > On the land that means certainty. > But that would mean giving up myself. > I almost sold my voice to be able to walk with you. > > But I knew you would never see me > The way I wished for for so long, > And I wouldn’t want to kill your happiness > By wishing for mine to come true. > What if I’m only in love with a statue, > With an idea, with an illusion, with a dream? > > I will leave my ocean, > But not to be with you. > I will travel the world with the birds, > And the waves of the sea, > The dolphin will carry me to unknown shores, > Until I’ve seen everything. > Until the laughs of a child will make me immortal as well. > > I’ll watch over you and your princess, > As you sail on. > My tears will stream home, > And I will feel human, and love. > > I’ll kiss her on the forehead, > I’ll wave at you and smile, > And though I’m not the sea foam, > I’m part of the blue sky. More from Auri Tunglsdottir ↓ * @songsofsunandmoon.official [https://www.instagram.com/songsofsunandmoon.official/] on Instagram Support + Stay Connected to OPO If you’d like to support the show, Substack [https://rembrandtscure.substack.com/] and Patreon [https://www.patreon.com/c/OnePoemOnly] members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook. Poetry reminds us what matters. Thank you for listening.

Sunday Ritual by Evyan Roberts | One Poem Only

Wednesdays on One Poem Only are a double feature: one poem here on the podcast, and one more by the same poet shared on Instagram. SUNDAY RITUAL EVYAN ROBERTS Residing in her pink robe, the one with the acrylic zipper in the front and the unnecessary homemaker-like lace at the collar. She sets her matching orthopedic slippers, to the side, and kneels over the basin. Like praying to deities of Arm &; Hammer Baking Soda and Heinz > Vinegar, she bends and begins passionately scrubbing, invoking the tool of her gods – a hard bristle brush – in the aid of her task. Mumbling in tongues, over and over, watching all that build up, give way. Her muscles fight exhaustion and residue. The grout of the tiles keeping her in a tepid sweat. I faithfully observe this private Sunday performance. Now, watching her lean back, to rest on her heels, then stretch for her cigarette, it ashing down her front. The fault of ceaseless muscles, trembling from rest – inspiring her to never stop. Falling to the laced collar of her robe, an ember slowly burns. She is unmoved. Looking to the water damaged ceiling, her eyes close, smoke aims from her mouth to the broken exhaust fan. The full billow dissipates to a thinned fume as she pulls once more. And with the remainder of her smoke, kneels forward, blessing the dingy basin, enriching it in smokey prayer, alongside the delicate sacrifice of polyester burning steadily, wider and wider, against her bosom. More from Evyan Roberts ↓ * @writing.femme [https://www.instagram.com/writing.femme/] on Instagram Watch Handpicked Wednesday A new feature where I go deeper into the poem of the day and discuss what made it stand out to me. Watch on Instagram at @rembrandts.cure [https://www.instagram.com/rembrandts.cure/]. Support + Stay Connected to OPO If you’d like to support the show, Substack [https://rembrandtscure.substack.com/] and Patreon [https://www.patreon.com/c/OnePoemOnly] members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook. Two poems. One poet. Let the words keep moving.

The Return of Titans by Kate M. Sine | One Poem Only

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now. THE RETURN OF TITANS KATE M. SINE > The last leaf of autumn falls, > striking the door like a match, > lighting our world with the magic from a distant universe. > > We watch the spirits pass us by at the window, > our breath fogging the glass as the archaic creatures > pad past, > shepherding their kind to safety while the world sleeps > through December, January, and February. > > Karan, the goose, who slides through the air like a knife, > blotting out the sky with a quilt of murmuration of different birds > as they migrate to warmer winds. > > Tubor, the bear, who buries beetles, boil-skinned frogs, and his brethren, > ushering them to sleep. > > Psyche, the wolf, who suns in the graveyards, > her golden eyes roll sleepily like the sun across the horizon as she watches the herds and flocks pass by. > She and her kin practice mercy on these long nights, > giving them a dignified death with their teeth instead of a demise in the shadow of their families. > > My favorite is Elpenor, the elk. > The world heralds his return, > the air filling with thunder as he uproots from his dimension to ours. > His antlers rise over the withered woods like a crown, > grazing the sky as he strides out into the open, > with deer, quail, foxes, and other creatures in tow. > > The men scold the giant deer for taking not only the wildlife away, > but women too. > > A symbol of the balance between fragility and strength, > woeful women have asked Elpenor to take them on his odyssey by shearing off their hair until they are left with downy heads, > like that of fawns. > Elpenor whisks them away, taking them to cities, to towns, > wherever happiness finds them. > > It was only this year that I learned that the lord gives his does, as they are called, > a knife, hewn from an antler shed of his children. > I saw it one day on my mother’s belt, > and now, > I have found a mystery > where I used to be whole, > a magic that I now possess. More from Kate M. Sine ↓ * @enis.st.sparrow [https://www.instagram.com/enis.st.sparrow/] on Instagram * @katemsine [https://substack.com/@katemsine] on Substack Support + Stay Connected to OPO If you’d like to support the show, Substack [https://rembrandtscure.substack.com/] and Patreon [https://www.patreon.com/c/OnePoemOnly] members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook. Feed yourself poetry every day.